Ghost Canyon

by John Russell Fearn

  “Down here,” he murmured. “Let’s go—and keep your hardware ready.”

  “Sure is some set-up,” muttered the man hanging onto him. “With all this space below I reckon there ain’t much Swainson couldn’t do.”

  “There’s space because we’re going right into the mountains themselves,” Terry responded. “So naturally we— A light!” he broke off tensely, pointing ahead.

  From this distance along the tunnel it only looked like a yellow smudge, but as the men advanced towards it, it became brighter—until finally they discovered that the tunnel had ended in a cavern so vast it was overpowering. Oil lamps were fixed in the walls at, different points. The roof soared up into a dim, spiky mass of stalactites.

  “Cattle! Hundreds uv steers,” one of the men whispered. “I guess I never saw so many all in one place! Not that there ain’t room for ’em.…”

  Terry was silent. Just at this moment he was absorbing the full height and depth of Swainson’s grandiose scheme. Here in this vast natural space were numberless steers, corralled off by properly made fences into different sections. It was like viewing a mammoth ranch under a sky of rock, all of it dimly lit by the numerous lamps.

  “Yeah, it’s a smart set-up,” one of the men said grimly, gazing down from the high rimrock of the tunnel’s edge. “Simple too. Get the cattle, drive ’em across country to this canyon, then hide ’em. When finally they’re released into the pastures of Verdure, the brands’ll be gone so’s nobody can identify ’em as stolen. Yuh’ve gotta hand it to Swainson. He knows what he’s doin’.”

  “Dead right, fella,” observed a cold voice. “Get your hands up—all of you. Quick!”

  Terry did not need to look behind him to know he was dealing with Swainson. He found his gun taken from him, then with his hands raised he about-faced when ordered to do so.

  “Sorry, gents, this is the end of the line for you,” Swainson snapped. “I guess you all know too much now to be let loose with your information. For your benefit, Carlton, I might as well tell you that those men you left on guard are dead—and buried. Can’t take risks now this hideout’s been found.”

  “Where’s my wife?” Terry demanded bitterly. “That’s all I’m interested in right now.”

  “You’ll see her,” Swainson answered dryly. “I might even be generous an’ let you die with her.”

  “This is a smart set-up you’ve got here, Swainson,” one of the men said.

  “Yeah. You wouldn’t have found it, either, but for things gettin’ a little outa hand. I figgered I hadn’t enough men to deal with all of you when I followed you from Verdure. I was going to plunge the lot of you below here while you were searchin’ the canyon floor, but you got wind of me. I had to call off the idea and beat it—then halfway back to Verdure it occurred to me that you, Carlton, might be smart enough to follow footprints and figger out the meanin’ of that Aztec pillar. I came back quick and found you’d done just as I’d feared. Not that it matters now I’ve caught up with you. The stone’s closed to the canyon, and I’ve a man on guard at the pillar. He won’t shift it again until he gets my signal.”

  “What signal?” Terry asked curtly. “I don’t see how you can give him one from down here.”

  “I can—and I shall, when I’m ready.” Swainson grinned widely. “You don’t think I haven’t gotten this whole thing doped out properly, do you?”

  Terry said nothing. He began to move as Swainson jerked his gun. Behind him, Burridge and the gun-hawks stood ready.

  “There’s a rough declivity to the left there, Carlton,” Swainson said. “Get down it and keep going. Rest of you the same! Hurry it up!”

  The command was obeyed, Terry going first down the rocky slope which led to the floor of the cavern. As he walked, his hands still raised, he studied again the extensive underground corrals and also noticed, stacked high against one mighty wall, the vast amount of fodder which had been stored. Just the same, this was no place for cattle. They needed the open air and limitless pastures if they were to survive.

  To walk across the cavern took nearly seven minutes; then still under direction Terry and his men continued down an opposite tunnel of much narrower dimensions than any so far—and so into a smaller cavern.

  Immediately a party of men got on their feet, guns ready—to lower them as Swainson and Burridge came into view. Terry stopped, relief sweeping him as he saw Hilda, apparently unharmed, seated in a corner on an upturned crate.

  “Okay,” Swainson said dryly. “If you two newly-weds want to start necking, get on with it. It’s all you’ll ever do, so you might as well.”

  Terry gave him a glance of contempt and then went over to where Hilda sat. He put an arm about her shoulders. “All okay?” he murmured.

  “Uh-huh. They haven’t done anything to me. I’ve just been sitting here waiting for something to happen—I suppose you saw me disappearing and found out how the trick was done?”

  Terry shook his head. “No. I heard you scream, but when I’d landed back where I’d left you you’d gone, there was just the two horses, nothing more. I had a lot to figger out after that…,” and he went into detail.

  “You’d hardly gone,” Hilda said, “when the canyon floor began to lower. Two men came out, snatched me from my horse and dragged me below. Then they sent that platform up again—or somebody did.”

  “My men down here had instructions to capture any followers,” Swainson said, he having drifted into earshot of the couple. “There are rock peepholes by which the canyon can be viewed. I’ve just been questioning them about your capture, Mrs. Carlton. It seems you and your husband here were seen, and the intention was to get both of you, but by the time the canyon floor had been lowered you, Mrs. Carlton, were alone—not that it matters. I have both of you now.”

  “To kill us, I suppose?” Hilda asked bitterly.

  “Not because I have any personal grudge,” Swainson answered, shrugging, “but because so intricate and far-reaching a scheme as this cannot be allowed to be upset.”

  “Can that platform only be operated from outside—at the Aztec pillar?” Terry asked, thinking.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Definitely. How can you lower that platform at a moment’s notice if there’s no man at work on the lever end? Such as when you captured my wife, for instance?”

  Swainson hesitated. “It can be operated from outside or in,” he replied. “All depending—as far as inside is concerned—if you know where to look. Naturally I shall not tell you the spot, just in case anything goes wrong and you have a chance of escaping. Normally, when the four horsemen are abroad, one man is on duty at the Aztec pillar. It is his job to open and shut the canyon floor for the horsemen to enter. He does not belong down here but is a citizen of Verdure—returning there whenever his job is finished for the night. There is a hideout near the pillar if anyone gets too inquisitive.”

  “Who is this citizen of Verdure?” Terry demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter, Carlton. Nothing does, far as you’re concerned. You and your wife—and the men you have with you—are going to vanish from the map before tonight’s out, and I’ll gamble that all the authorities and lawmen in the States won’t ever find out what happened to you.”

  “I seem to remember you gambling that I wouldn’t find out about this set-up,” Terry reminded him, and it brought a change of expression to Swainson’s thin face.

  “You turned out smarter than I’d figured,” he shrugged. “Anyway, before I send the lot of you for the last drop—and I mean drop, down a mine-shaft located near this cavern—I want some information. Where have you put your evidence, Carlton? The stuff you’ve gathered up to now?”

  “What use would it be my telling you if I’m dead and can’t use it?”

  “I still want to know. I’m not overlooking the fact that a man—or men—might come down here to look around one of these days—and if that happened any evidence you’ve planted might be found by this guy. It isn’t worth it to me
to take the chance. So where is it? At home?”

  “Surprises me you haven’t looked there,” Terry answered dryly.

  “I haven’t had the time yet. You can save me a lot of trouble by talking. So where is it?”

  Terry shook his head. “No dice, Swainson. Since you’re planning on blotting me out anyway, I don’t see why you should have that information as well. It’s where it will be found if you dispose of me. I’ve seen to that.”

  Swainson was silent. Terry waited for the next. That he had lied had purely been to try and gain time.

  “Okay,” Swainson said finally. “Since you’re stubborn, Carlton, mebbe your wife can be made to talk—if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, then mebbe you’ll open your trap to save her.”

  He signalled Curly, who came forward. Terry tightened his hands on Hilda’s shoulders as he felt her tremble a little—then before he could say or attempt anything, he was seized roughly by the other men and dragged away. He made a savage effort to tear free, but it was no use.

  “Before we start,” Swainson said, as Curly drew up his sleeves on his massive arms, “you have one more chance, Carlton. Where have you put the evidence you’ve collected?”

  “Don’t tell him, Terry!” Hilda insisted. “I can take whatever is coming to me. I—”

  “It’s not worth it, Hil,” Terry broke in quietly. “You win, Swainson. It’s all in the safe back home. The Marchland place.”

  “Before I believe you, I’ll make sure,” Swainson said. “Is it a key or combination safe?”

  “Key.”

  “Okay, let’s have it. Curly can go back and investigate. I’ll keep you two on ice until I know whether you’ve been lying or not.”

  Terry lowered his hand to fish for the key in his pants’ pocket, but Swainson jerked his gun.

  “No, you don’t, Carlton. I’ll get it.”

  He stepped forward. Terry remained passive as Swainson’s free hand went into his pants’ pocket—then he acted. He raised his right foot and slammed it down heel-first on Swainson’s toes. He gasped; then he rocked as a fist whizzed up and battered under his jaw. One hand being locked in Terry’s closely fitting pocket, he couldn’t balance himself properly, which was just as Terry had calculated. Immediately he shot out his arm and held Swainson firmly round the waist, using him as a shield.

  His gun gone, Swainson tore his hand free of the imprisoning pocket and breathed hard.

  “Bad move that, Swainson,” Terry told him dryly. “Right now you’re my insurance for continued good health. Tell your men to toss their hardware over here, unless you want a bullet in you.”

  The men gathered in a circle, Burridge amongst them, hesitated. Swainson motioned urgently.

  “You heard what he said, didn’t you?” he demanded. “Get on with it!”

  Again the hesitation. It looked as though each man was wondering whether Swainson was worth saving anyway—then, as he yelled the order at them furiously they obeyed, perhaps from fear of what might happen to them later if he escaped.

  “Okay, boys,” Terry said, still gripping Swainson mercilessly and glancing towards his own colleagues. “Use those guns—two to each of you. You as well, Hil.”

  His direction was obeyed. Only then was Swainson released. Terry took the two guns Hilda picked up for him and looked at the scowling saloon owner with a grim smile.

  “Didn’t quite work out, Swainson, did it?” he enquired. “And since I’m down here and got the upper hand for the moment, I’ll add a few more facts to my catalogue of crime.… You wanted information from me: now I want some from you. Who amongst this bunch of beauties are the four horsemen, and how do they do it?”

  “Do what?” Swainson snarled. “Damnit, you’ve seen how that platform works. What the hell more do you want?”

  “They are white, and so are the horses. How is that done?”

  “White suits and hats, special white coverings for the horses,” Burridge replied, and Swainson glared at him.

  “Don’t waste any time telling him, do you?” he snapped.

  “Safest. He’s got the gun.”

  “I want those coverings,” Terry said. “Be useful for my accumulating pile of evidence.”

  Swainson set his jaw and motioned one of his men. Evidently the gunhawk understood, for he went to a further wall of the cavern and from a natural alcove took out a pile of white painted coverings and white stetsons and riding suits.

  “You boys take charge of those,” Terry said, glancing at his own men. “Now for a few more points, Swainson, May as well have everything clear while we’re about it.… Where exactly have all the stolen cattle come from, and how did you do it?”

  Swainson was obviously not parting with any more information—but Burridge wasn’t so tough. He began talking, despite the vicious look he got from the saloon owner.

  “The cattle are all from ranches within a hundred-mile radius of Verdure. We operated with a gang of men we knew we could trust. They did the job at night, driving the cattle in the dark hours to Star Canyon here; then we brought ’em below. Because pastures are needed, we aim to empty Verdure of people.”

  “You mean you did,” Terry told him grimly. “I guess that’s no more than a pipe-dream now, fella. Thanks for the information, Mayor, which is more or less as I’d figured out. An’ what about Marchland? He was a go-between, wasn’t he?”

  “Uh-huh,” Burridge acknowledged. “He acted between us and the party who figure on buying the herds later.”

  “What party?”

  “The name’s Dixon. Over the border—New Mexico way. I guess he’s a guy who—”

  “Shut up!” Swainson blazed. “You’ve said enough already, Burridge! If I ever get outa this spot, I’ll settle with you for this!”

  “You won’t get out of it, Swainson,” Terry assured him, “so get that through your skull right now.… Dixon, eh? New Mexico? I never heard of him, but I guess he can be traced. I suppose you intended burning out the brands on these steers?”

  Burridge nodded, but Swainson remained with his jaw set, his eyes, darting about the cavern as though he were trying to think out a method of escape.

  “We’re doing very nicely for details,” Terry said, after a moment, “and all these men here with me are useful witnesses. Now let’s get to something more personal. About Harrison. He shot Marchland, didn’t he?”

  “How should I know?” Swainson asked sourly.

  “You should know, because you’re the brains behind everything, I don’t think Harrison would have pulled a job like that on his own account. You told him to, didn’t you?”

  “You can go to hell, Carlton,” Swainson replied.

  “And Harrison himself.… My guess is you shot him. Or else you, Burridge.…”

  “It wasn’t me,” the Mayor said quickly, as Terry’s eyes pinned his. “I swear it wasn’t.”

  “I believe you,” Terry said in contempt. “You’re too damned yellow for me to do anything else. That brings it back to you, Swainson. What about it?”

  “What kind of a mug do you take me for? Even if I did murder Harrison, you wouldn’t expect me to admit it, would you?”

  “You might—since you’re cornered. Skip it for the moment: I daresay the law will knock the truth outa you in time.” Terry looked about him, then added: “Well, that seems to be all we can do right here. Can’t be far off dawn and we all need rest. We can grab it now and use guards in relays. Then you’re going to start moving, Swainson—Burridge and the rest of you. Not to any phoney trial in Verdure, but to the best jail in the nearest city. Meantime, take it easy.”

  Terry turned aside, delegated several men to the first shift of sentry duty, and then relaxed on the floor with his back to the cavern wall. Swainson and his men were herded over to a corner, ordered to sit down, and kept under the surveillance of the four men with guns.

  “I don’t know how you can have the detachment to rest, and even sleep,” Hilda murmured, sprawled beside Terry as he rolled himse
lf a cigarette. “Suppose one of these men pull something?”

  “They won’t. Those boys who are on guard are solidly behind me. Nothing to worry over, Hil. Soon as I’ve had this cigarette I’m going to sleep. And you should do the same.”

  “Well—I can try, but I don’t expect to be successful.” But in this she was wrong. The exertions and nerve-strain she had experienced had a definite reaction now she felt comparatively safe. She began to doze as she watched Terry’s cigarette lazily. For his own part he sat surveying the cavern, the men under guard, and then the pile of ‘ghost’ coverings nearby. He, too, felt the need for sleep creeping up on him, so rather than fight it he threw, away his cigarette and relaxed against the wall.

  Swainson, forcing himself to remain alert, watched the half-consumed, still-glowing cigarette come to rest on the stone floor a couple of yards away. He affected not to notice it, relaxed, and pillowed his head on his arm with the apparent intention of going to sleep.

  For a long time he lay watching the guards through his eyelashes. They kept their attention on him until they seemed satisfied he had dozed off. To give the right impression, he stirred restlessly and turned, flinging out his right hand from beneath him. It fell so that it covered the smouldering cigarette end, hidden now by the bulk of his body.

  His back to the guards as he lay in apparent slumber Swainson worked fast. He breathed gently on the cigarette end until it was glowing brightly. Laying it on the floor close by his face, so he could breathe on it and give it life, he gently moved a cartridge from the belt about his waist, an action so stealthily done it merely looked from the back view as though he was stirring in uneasy slumber.

  Still with hardly any apparent movement, he broke the cartridge in two and carefully plugged the open end with the glowing cigarette, the dead end being pressed flat on the gunpowder and the lighted end free. Inevitably, when the tobacco burned low enough, the gunpowder would explode, and before long.